Chapter 4
Jack's damaged brains, breakfast of champions
Chocolate chip cookies turned out to be as delicious as they are strangely ugly decided Guy. Both men were silent as they finished eating over two dozen of the small treasures. Jack broke that silence. “After eating and listening to you talk, I'm pretty tired, Guy.” Glancing out of the kitchen window showed a darkened sky above a tall sea of snow, and Jack again felt confused by the passage of time. Was it still Tuesday? Was this Wednesday? He was confused, but it didn't really bother him, as Jack's brain told him that it really didn't care, and thus neither did Jack. Jack's brain was getting really good at not caring about things lately, it must be all the extra practice it was getting.
“Also, I guess it's getting late... and while I listened to everything you said, I don't recall you mentioning when you were going home. Or how. Though I should tell you I maybe didn't really understand a lot of what you were talking about. I feel like that should bother me, but it doesn't. And I feel like that should bother me too. I think there might be something wrong with me, Guy.”
Guy's face showed very little as he slowly nodded. “You are correct, I cannot leave yet. My meridians are damaged from the Horror's venom, and it will take some time until I am well. I owe you a great debt for saving my life, and another for the hurts I have caused, both by bringing an Abyssal Horror here, and subjecting you to a [Skill Book] you could not have been prepared for or strong enough to use. I can sense that you need rest right now, so you should go and get some sleep. There is much more to discuss, but tomorrow is soon enough for that. I will wait here until you awaken.”
“What? Here? In the kitchen? I could offer you the couch in the living-room, I guess. If it wasn't destroyed and the pieces covered in muck, that is. There are other rooms though, I barely know anything about this house, I only got here the day before you, really. It is big though, maybe there is a second guest bedroom? I would go look and find out, but I'm almost too tired to even think. Look around for a bed if you want, just don't wake me up, OK? Oh yeah, don't sleep in great uncle Randall's room, the floor got wrecked by... that thing? Your arrival? I don't know, something, and I don't know if it's safe in there. Also, it'd be creepy. Goodnight, see you in the morning.”
With that, jack went up the rear stairs and crawled back into the comforting embrace of Sleep. He did not dream of monsters or giant glowing books burning the eyes of his mind. No, he dreamt happy dreams of his youth, seeing again the loving and concerned faces of those he never thought to see again in this life. He dreamed of his friends and his family, most of whom had long since gone, one way or another. Jack dreamt of Her... No! Bad Jack! She's not real! She was never real. Jack wasn't aware that he wept, he was far too tired, too deeply sleeping. With his mind and soul as raw as his had become, even feeling joy wounded something deep inside him, as if happiness itself could only make him sad. In the morning, he would forget these dreams, as one often does upon waking, but until then he would try to believe it was the dream that was real and his life that was the lie.
#
This was not Jack's life. Or it wasn't supposed to be. As a child everyone had been sure that one day Jack would do something great or be someone important. Jack had so much potential. But life is not without its surprises, and great potential could lead away from greatness as easily as it could lead towards it, perhaps easier. His story was a sad one, but not a unique one. Nor could it be said that Jack was blameless in his failure to become the person he had been convinced he would one day be. Jack made mistakes, and bad decisions, and every disaster and tragedy marked him, just as they mark everyone else. But Jack wasn't a hero, if he was, he could perhaps have taken those disasters and tragedies and used them to somehow leverage a brighter future. But honestly Jack had no idea how to do that, and so instead, they just became damage and the heavy emotional baggage of a life half spoilt, with the sure knowledge that its state is Jack's fault, as no one else can be found to blame.
Does that mean that he could have done things differently? These are the questions everyone wishes they had the answers to, but no one ever actually will. No one gets to change the past so as to look at how different choices might have different endings. We get the endings we get, and believing that things could have been different, is at best a platitude, and at its worst, a torture. Maybe it's fate, maybe it's not, things happen as they happen, and we never really get to find out why.
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By many of the measures of society, especially by his own, Jack is a failure. He has no career, no job, and no money. Even his family is gone, or those of them that actually existed, that is. He has no children to carry on his family legacy, and no friends to console him. Jack is a broken man, lost among the wreckage of his wasted life and occasionally the wreckage of dead great Uncle Randall's living room. But it is said by the wise that every crisis is an opportunity in disguise, and Jack has, by luck, fate or happenstance stumbled onto a crisis that includes worlds beyond his own, mysterious holes in reality, eldritch creatures that destroy the minds of those that see them, and the souls of those they touch. What kind of opportunity could be made from that? And what will Jack have to do to find out? One thing is a certainty anyways, that first Jack will have to get out of bed. Hopefully he can avoid giving himself more brain damage this time.
#
Getting out of bed has never been something that Jack was good at, though only rarely does he fail as spectacularly as he had on Monday night. Today was no different, as he schlepped, zombie-like to the upstairs bathroom for a shower, realizing only after getting into it that he had raided this bathroom for soap and shampoo for Guy. Jack showered without soap, and took his disheveled ass down to the kitchen for coffee, only to find Guy sitting exactly where he had been when Jack left to go to bed. Now however there were a number of strange objects on the table: a small pile of curiously glowing crystals, a green translucent ring, what looked like an old piece of parchment, and strangest of all, an ornate sword. Jack was not an expert on swords, but it sure did look expensive, and strangest of all, it was not the fiery magic sword that Guy had used before.
“Jesus, Guy! How many swords did you bring!” said Jack, while making a fresh pot of coffee.
“I have a few... How did you sleep Jack? Are you feeling any clearer today?” Guy had a pensive look on his face, he was clearly worried about something, though Jack had no idea what it was. Other things that Jack had no idea about included Guy being concerned at all, or that Jack himself looked far worse today than yesterday. It seems that sleep was little help to Jack regarding his unfortunate health, and Guy had resolved in the night to help him, even if he couldn't expect to fully convey to him exactly what was wrong.
“I feel like shit, Guy, but thanks for asking.” mumbled Jack, finally sitting down at the table with two bowls of cereal and the jug of milk from the fridge. “I hope you like cereal, because I'm not in any shape to cook eggs again today.”
“Whatever cereal is, I'm sure it is an excellent breakfast,” said Guy. A suspicious man might have noticed the total lack of trust implicit in Guys words as he side-eyed the picture on the cereal box, however Jack was not a suspicious man today, however suspicious he might be normally. After watching Jack eat his cereal, Guy poured milk onto his Generic-O's and tried them. Nope, not a cookie, but a filling enough, if somewhat noisy meal.
“Jack, do you remember our discussion yesterday?” asked Guy tentatively.
“I remember parts of it, sure.” he said while moving the coffee carafe to the table.
“Good. Do you remember me telling you that you had hurt your mind?” asked Guy in much the same way a man might ask a skittish child.
“I guess.” Jack is not exactly a sparkling conversationalist in the morning. Or whenever waking up happened to occur for Jack, which, as often as not was sometime late afternoon. Coffee did help, but coffee isn't magic, and what was affecting Jack wouldn't be remedied by a common beverage.
“Well, I was hoping that after breakfast you might let me examine you, and see how bad it is, and if I can help to do anything about it. Is that OK with you?” Guy's look of anxiety and guilt was so obvious now that even a brain damaged person couldn't help but notice it. Somehow Jack still didn't though.
“Are you some kind of Doctor Guy?” asked Jack, his head tiled sideways like a confused cat.
“Not like you mean, no. But I have seen things like what happened to you before, and I think that I might be able to help you feel more like yourself again. I will not do anything you are not comfortable with; I promise.” Again, with the soothing tone akin to that used by a horse trainer coaxing a shy colt.
“OK Guy, after breakfast. So, what are those things you put on the table?” asked Jack around a mouth full of Generic-O's. Well, not completely around them, as a number of them dribbled out of his mouth and down his shirt. If Jack noticed, he didn't appear to care.
“These things? These are some of those things I was told to fetch for my Master Chen... er, for my Boss. I do not understand why I was told that I needed them, but maybe later you can look at them with me and help me understand what I am to do with them.” replied Guy.
“Fair enough,” said Jack. They finished the rest of breakfast in silence, and Guy was relieved. Jack was not aware how serious his condition was, but Guy was. If Jack didn't stop hemorrhaging his Psi and Essence into the air, he would be dead before he had a chance to eat breakfast again. That would be bad for Jack, and it wouldn't be good for Guy either. If Guy failed Sect Master Chen's quest, the consequences would be dire, both for Jack, and also for a sick little girl far, far away. Perhaps even for the entire Cosmos, if Master Chen's theory was true. Guy had no choice. He must succeed. He would succeed. Or he would die trying, as that was the promised punishment for failing the Master in this task. Not punishment from his Master, no, his master never punished failure with death. But the Emperor did, and it was his little girl who was sick. Guy prayed that he could help, and then he waited for Jack to finish eating.